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Moving on the floor with you the music lifts us up,
the people stop and stare at us but we don't give a f*¢k,
a few shots for the both of us have got things gunning right,
the mood is crazy real 'cause there's something about the night.
We leave the dancehall tipsy and won't drive; we're much impaired,
but luckily our hotel room is chillin' up them stairs,
in front of us; we make it there in not much time at all,
with king sized bed and a jacuzzi? Yo it's kinda raw.
I start to run the water as you slow and sure undress,
my slacks are poking out and it may seem I'm surely pressed,
to get you in your birthday suit and that's because I am,
so anxious to get down and dirty; that's because I can,
do things that make your body feel as though you've up and died,
I feel it in the air like Phil; there's sumthin up tonight,
that mixes with the weed and liquor like we're baking cake,
I'm patient to a fault but times like now, I hate to wait.
We're butt @ss naked in the tub; the bubbles reach our chin,
my hand is underneath the water as you preach out sin,
my middle finger works your spot which makes you reach out then,
you scream; 5 minutes pass before you're screeching out again.
Our lips caress in wet undress before we're standing up,
and moving to the bed; you grip me and my man is up,
you push me down on quilted sheets and still I'm standing up,
then take me in your mouth which just might make this man erupt.
My richard has control though like old school Atari sticks,
your manner's cold as ice while slobbin' all up on me d1¢k,
I've had enough; I turn your frame to take it from the back,
my stroking slaps with pressure and it's makin' sumthin clap.
Our motions curl your painted toes; it's like the sayin' goes,
we've made our bed to lie in it; tonight we're stayin' though,
to finish what we've started; starvin' artists, ain't it so?
I feel myself arriving as I pull out sprayin' slow.
Our rest is uneventful as I wipe your body clean,
of Tia's little bros and sisters and it's not a dream,
as I go down to taste you 'cause this lovin's outta sight,
the dark sky watches over; there's something about the night.
©2015 The Cunning Linguist
